Monster Monster
by CallMeClandestine
Summary: Ino knew one thing about it world: it was filled with monsters. They were at every blind corner and down every dark alley. But somewhere along the line, there had to be people she could trust. She just had to remember what trust was. Kiba/Ino
1. In the city of wonder

**A/N:** So, my plan was to write a few chapters of a KibaIno story before posting the first one. Of course, i couldn't wait that long. So here it is. Chapter one. It's gonna be darker than what i've written before, with language (warning warning, no whining about it later) and other...darker things. I might raise the rating to M in the future, depending on how things turn out. With that said, i hope there are some KibaIno fans out there who enjoy this!

**Summary: **AU. With a past she would rather keep forgotten, the future meant little to her. She knew one thing, however: the world was filled with monsters. They were at every blind corner and down every dark alley. She happened to be one of them. KibaIno.

**Disclaimer:** The only thing that's mine is the plot. Sadness...

**Monster Monster**

_1. In the city of wonder_

…_ain't gonna play nice…_

She kept her hands stuffed in her jacket pocket as she trudged down the street, eyes on everything but nothing in particular. The buildings were all tall and narrow, junky looking and definitely old, with windows so dark that she wondered if they were tinted – and if that was even legal. She decided that it probably wasn't but that no one actually cared, and kept walking.

Loud chatter and booming laughs drifted through an open bar door as a shabbily-dressed man slipped inside. She watched his worn grey trench coat disappear with cold blue eyes, and then flickered her gaze to the two lanterns dangling from the overhang, already lit up though the color of the patch of sky visible was more gray than black. She scowled and looked away from the bar, the welcoming yellow glow filtering through the dusty windows more repulsive than appeasing to her.

She kicked a flattened soda bottle in her path; it tumbled forward in a skewed line, and she drifted a bit to the right to kick it again. This time it landed in a puddle of muck, the exact contents unknown to her. She didn't spare it a second glance as she walked past and reverted once more to listening to the light sound of her footsteps now that the metallic scraping was gone.

Suddenly, the sound of tires skimming over the rough concrete behind her caught her attention, and before she could as much as turn around a horn trumpeted loudly. The duffle bag slung across her back drummed against her shoulder blade when she jumped and cursed.

"Hey, girlie, get your ass out of the street!"

She complied, though grudgingly, and glared at the rusty paint of the old four-door that drove by, windows tinted of course. "Get _your_ ass out of the street, bastard," she muttered under her breath, and stepped down off of the sidewalk with rebellious pleasure.

The solid weight thumping against her back had her subconsciously take one hand out of the kangaroo pocket of her navy jacket and tighten her fist around the thin straps hanging from her right shoulder. Just to make sure it was still there.

She heard snickering from her left and looked over to see two teenage boys sitting on the cracked curb, fingers pointed not-so-conspicuously in her direction. She raised a thin eyebrow and gave them a look. _What?_

She heard one of them – the one with a mane, drastically in need of a good trim – ask his friend under his breath, "Think she knows what a sidewalk's for?"

"Dumb blonde joke, good one. Losers," she countered, chin up and tone sarcastically sweet turned cold. She tuned out any disgruntled sound of protest that may have come. They were already behind her, and she wasn't looking back. When she was sure that she didn't feel their degrading eyes on the back of her head anymore, she sighed and looked at the sky.

Or as much of the sky she could see.

Surrounded by intimidating towering buildings on both sides seemed to shrink the shadowed street to half its actual size, inducing a sort of claustrophobic discomfort on her. Windows upon windows glinted in the late afternoon sun, its rays pallid under the thick blanket of gloomy clouds. It was about five o'clock, but with the insignificant amount of light reaching the street level it appeared to be about six thirty, almost seven.

_At least it doesn't get too windy down here_, she thought as she passed under a clothesline strung up a good hundred yards overhead at the tip of the building. Nickel-sized garments blew to and fro in an unfelt gust, and she could almost imagine the crisp coldness. Could almost feel her hair whip around her face, disheveling her bangs and leaving her cheeks colored.

She nearly smiled.

And then her right foot landed in something wet and icy cold, and she swore violently. "Fuck."

She lifted her foot out of the dirt-colored puddle with a grimace and groaned; her jeans were soaked halfway up her shin. She put weight on her foot tentatively and clenched her fists at the squishy, clammy cold feeling. She _really_ felt like punching someone.

"Fucking bastard," she spat at the puddle, and then repeated herself once more in a much more forlorn voice. Angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she dug her fingernails into her palms in revolt. "God dammit."

"Damn, sweet cheeks, you sure got a mouth on you."

She lifted her chin and scrutinized the source of the – to her slight confusion – praising voice. She pursed her lips and shot back a defensive, "What's it to you?" before turning away from the messy brown hair and peculiar tattooed face.

She stopped in her tracks when he spoke again. "Are you crying?"

And she spun around with glinting eyes. "I'm _not_ crying." And she wasn't, and she no longer wanted to, and her eyes were dry and angry. To her utter fury, he was grinning in amusement.

"You've got a temper also, don'tcha?"

"Only for jerks like you."

"Aw, what did I ever do to you?" he pouted and crossed his arms. She couldn't help but notice the toned muscles under the tan skin, defined just enough to catch any girl's eye. Her eyes rested on his for a moment, and she had a good idea of what he wanted from her.

"I'm not for sale," she told him brusquely. His grin was matched by an intrigued glint in his auburn eyes, and her blood almost boiled.

"Who ever said anything about that? I'm hurt, sweet cheeks." He placed a hand over his heart dramatically, but his grin only grew more amused, stretching the inverted red fangs inked into his cheeks.

"Don't. Call me that."

"How's cupcake? Darling? Blon-"

"Screw you," she hissed and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Wait, I was just kidding!"

She heard him run to catch up to her, and clenched her jaw. Maybe she would get to punch somebody after all. "Can you _please_ just leave me alone?" she asked when he fell into step next to her. She saw him look over at her from the corner of her eye, but she didn't look back.

After a minute of him scrutinizing her, he looked forward and answered. "Well, normally I'm a sucker for girls asking for things politely. But in this case, I don't feel the sincerity. Besides, there's something about you that's caught my attention."

"I already said. I'm not that kind of girl. Go look on some other corner if that's what you want."

"And _I_ already said that that's not what I want. I was just noticing that you look very out of place down here."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, that's great to know. Am I supposed to be in rags or something?"

"Do you see rags on me?" he asked. "What I mean is that you look like you're lost. Or running away from something," he added, staring pointedly at the bag on her shoulder.

"Oh, and I suppose you care _so_ very much," she replied scathingly, hoisting the bag more firmly over her shoulder.

"Well, I was wondering where you were going, and if you were okay. You know, all those good civilian kinda things."

"Sweet," she said blandly, "but I don't need any sympathy."

"Okay, okay. I wasn't giving you any, don't worry about it."

"Lovely. Goodbye."

"Where are you going?" he asked, not even missing a beat.

"Good_bye_," she repeated through clenched teeth.

"Sorry, but I'm heading this way anyway. I might as well be a gentleman and keep you company. So where are you heading?"

"Why do you care?"

He shrugged. "I'm just striking up conversation. And besides, you're making it too much fun to annoy you."

"You flirt like a fourth grader."

He chuckled. "You're too funny, sweet cheeks."

"Don't-"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. So where-"

"I don't know where I'm going." She looked over at him, and he was raising an eyebrow.

"That's not good. So I _was_ right, you're lost."

"No. I'm not headed anywhere in particular."

His eyebrow got lost under his uneven fringe. "It's going to get dark soon, and it's not good for a young lady such as yourself to wander the streets at night. Then people really _will_ think that you're a prostitute."

She managed to keep herself calm after the last comment. "Which is why I'm looking for a place to stay."

He scratched his chin. "You know, you're kinda confusing. But I have just the place for you," he announced, a proud smile revealing pointy incisors.

"Huh?"

"You need a place to stay the night, right? And I happen to know the perfect place."

"As long as it's not at your house…"

"Please, sweet cheeks. Try apartment complex. Oh and lookie here, we have arrived."

He veered right onto the sidewalk and stopped with a hand on a glass door. "Well, are you coming or what?"

She looked up at the burnt orange bricks and small, iron-enclosed balconies. The windows were all covered with dark curtains. In all, the building looked all but welcoming, but she knew that she _did_ need a place to stay.

With a heavy exhale of "What the hell am I doing?" she followed, rolling her eyes when he held the door open for her.

The lobby was small, since the building was so narrow. The walls were covered in peeling, off-white paint and the floorboards were a dusty brown. The door closed with a creak when the man followed her inside.

"Yo, Tsunade, you have any empty rooms for her?" he asked the busty woman sitting behind a counter against the left wall.

"I don't have much money."

"Don't worry blondie, I've got it covered."

She frowned at him but couldn't dismiss the kind offer, so she looked back at the woman behind the counter. Tsunade had lighter blonde hair in two side ponytails, and her chin was resting on her entwined hands, arms propped up by her elbows. "Good afternoon to you too, Kiba. Room seven's free," she informed them in a bored voice, and blinked her eyes tiredly.

"Perfect, she'll take it for the night."

"You're paying."

"I _know_, blondie. But maybe if you're so demanding I'll have you chip in a bit."

"You already said you'd pay."

Tsunade sighed. "Can you go away, I have a headache and you're not making it better."

"Whatever," Kiba said cheerfully, taking advantage of being told to leave before paying. "I'm going upstairs. Follow if you want, sweet cheeks."

"Um, thanks? I guess," she said to the older woman before hurrying to catch up to Kiba, who had nicked a key from a rack on the wall and was already climbing the spiral stairs at the back right corner of the lobby.

She caught up when they reached the landing for the second floor. "How much higher?" she asked grumpily when they passed it by and continued climbing, their footsteps almost thunderous on the metal steps.

"Next floor. If you get tired, I'll be happy to carry you."

"If you touch me, I _will_ hurt you."

Kiba shrugged. "Your loss."

He led her down the narrow hallway in silence, and upon reaching room number seven he jammed the key into the lock and turned it with a bit of difficulty. "Damned old doors," he muttered as he wrestled with the sticky bolt, and he let out a grunt when he had to throw his shoulder into the door to get it open.

She raised both eyebrows as the white-washed wood opened with a very pronounced creak to reveal a sparsely furnished, small living room. The smell of pent-up dust filled her nostrils and she frowned.

"Just open some windows and it'll air out soon," Kiba said, noticing her expression.

She eyed the back of a brown leather sofa dubiously, noticing a distinct tear towards the bottom left corner, but ultimately sighed and snatched the key from Kiba's hand. She had one foot over the threshold when he asked her.

"By the way, sweet cheeks, you wouldn't happen to have a name, would you?"

She twirled around and placed a hand on the door, fixing her cerulean eyes on his brown ones, and gave him a humorless smile.

"Sakura," she answered, and closed the door in his tattooed face.


	2. You bleed for me

**A/N: **So, my computer's been kinda messed up, and i'm hoping i can get this up before it turns off on me again. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chap! I'm rushing, so i know i'm forgetting to say some stuff i wanted to, but anyway, here's chap 2. Kinda long, less dialogue, fillerish maybe. Can anyone guess the song, btw? (Chap title). It was also a big inspiration for this story!

Oh yeah, i'm sure most of you figured it out, but Ino _is_ pretending to be called Sakura. For her own reasons. That will not be revealed yet.

**Monster Monster**

_2. You bleed for me_

…_I'll bleed for you…_

Ino stood with her nose a scant two feet from the white-washed wooden door. She pushed the black beanie on her head farther down over her ears, flattening her choppy blonde bangs against her forehead. She pulled at the ends of her two side-braids and let them fall against the front of her shoulders, thumping inaudibly against her sweatshirt.

The bottom of the right leg of her jeans had a light brown tinge to it; she hadn't been able to completely wash out the muddy water, and now the faded denim was stiff and wrinkled to her distaste. The lining of her shoe was still damp, but there was nothing she could do about that, so she tried to ignore the unpleasant coldness.

With a sigh, she rested her hand upon the doorknob, and then paused again. She swallowed past the constricting walls of her throat and hoped to calm her nervous heart by visually tracing the faint grains of wood visible through the bad paint job on the door. She wasn't quite sure if anything happened, but mentally berated herself for dawdling. She knew from experience that things did not get easier the longer one waited to face his or her problems.

Ino's problem was money. Or lack thereof. Which meant that she had to go to a bank. Which in turn meant that she had to go _up_. Up into the wide open streets and flashy buildings and sun-drenched sidewalks filled with people. It was civilization, and it scared her.

"God damn," she cursed in frustration – mostly at herself - and with the twist of her wrist the doorknob let out an unattractive crunch and she was able to force the door open.

"Well, let's go, Ino," she muttered to herself, eyes on the ground, intent on the barrier between her room and the hallway. She subconsciously raised her right hand to grip the shoulder straps of her bag – much lighter today than it had been the previous evening – and stepped into the dimly-lit hall.

She made it out to the gloomy early-morning silence of the street without incident; Tsunade had merely raised her head from the front desk to give Ino a sleep-hazed look before dropping her forehead back down onto the wood. The clock above the exit door had read six forty-three through yellowed glass.

Ino breathed a sigh of relief once she was a good three hundred yards from the apartment complex, glad that she hadn't stumbled across Kiba. The annoying idiot who thought her name was Sakura.

A cold grin tugged at the corners of her lips. Some people were too easy to deceive.

Her relief was short-lived, however, and soon a cold shroud of dread once again attempted to break her will and force her to turn back.

_For the money_, she told herself. _For the money, so I can stay at the complex_. The room she had spent the night in was as ideal as she dared hope for – with its defaced sofa and moth-eaten blinds, spider-filled cabinets and layers of dust bunnies across the floorboards – because all she _needed_ was somewhere to stay, if just for a while. Until she straightened her thoughts and decided what was to come next for her, the ruddy complex was perfect. And she knew that she couldn't convince Kiba to continue paying for the room for her. Something told her he wasn't _that_ good civilian-like, as he put it.

Buildings passed with a stretched feeling of sameness. Her fingertips were cold and a bit clammy due to her nerves, and her eyes were focused directly ahead, eyebrows knitted together. The festering unease in her gut was maddening, and before she was prepared for it, the street sloped upwards gently. She could see where the shadows ended; the light beyond looked like a barrier.

_Do not cross_, it seemed to be warning her. _You don't belong._ Yet at the same time it was taunting her with false securities of warmth and cheerfulness, things she knew would not come in civilization. She had fallen for that lie once before, which was one too many times for her.

She tried to empty her mind as she emerged onto the main street and made a quick right on the sidewalk, hoping to not draw attention to herself. She let the busy buzz of city sounds preoccupy her thoughts, and stowed her hands in her pockets.

The street signs at each corner informed her that she was nearing her destination. _Seventeenth, Sixteenth, Fifteenth. _

She rolled her shoulders when she reached the intersection of Fourteenth and Washington. The traffic light turned green and she fell into step with the gradual stream of early-rising pedestrians crossing the street, eyeing the wide glass windows of the building on the corner ahead of her.

The bright sunlight glinting off the glass was almost blinding, and she found herself lowering her head to the cracked slabs of pavement underfoot. Blackened spots of gum were worn smooth everywhere. Ino pulled off her beanie and ran a hand through her hair absently, before stuffing the hat in her front pocket and cracking her neck. The entrance door was right in front of her.

She relaxed her eyebrows and mouth and hoped that she didn't look too uneasy as she pulled open the door and stepped into the clean, proper, very intimidating establishment.

* * *

Two hundred dollars. That was all that she had left.

Two hundred and thirteen dollars and twenty one cents, to be exact.

"Oh, fuck me," she mumbled, once more back in the comforting shadows of grungy buildings. "Hey, you, is there somewhere to buy something to eat around here?" she grumpily asked a thin, leather-dressed man leaning against the wall of a brick building to her right. He took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a puff of grey before flicking the cancer-stick to the ground and smashing it with the heel of his boot.

Bony hands stowed themselves in his pants pockets and he shrugged. "There's a liquor store a few buildings down on the left," he told her with a slight slur, grey eyes glazed.

Her eyes flickered down the street as she passed by him, wrinkling her nose at the stale stench of tobacco mixed with some strong alcohol. "Thanks," she said curtly, and he grinned lopsidedly in return. A few strands of his green-tinted hairdo flopped over the left side of his face as his head lolled back against the bricks behind him. He was smashed.

_Must be nothing better to do around here_, Ino thought, and she heard him start to hum.

She passed the liquor store with a disappointed scowl; she needed food, not alcohol. Booze could come later; she had no doubt that it would.

A few more blocks revealed no food establishment to her, and by the time she had reached the apartment complex she had given up on her quest for breakfast – lunch… brunch? She still had half a power bar in her room, the other half having been her dinner the previous night. That would tide her over for a few more hours.

Tsunade's desk was empty upon Ino's entrance, and the younger blonde perked an eyebrow at the vacancy, wondering if this meant she would be able to avoid paying for another night's stay. She really hoped it did.

As she was climbing the stairs, a second set of echoing footsteps suddenly reached her ears. She raised her head to peer up the dizzying spiral of steps above, and she caught sight of a shadow on the wall nearing her.

_Please don't let it be who I think it is_.

And it wasn't. It _was_ a young man, not much older than her, but with pale skin made all the more pale in contrast to the midnight-black he was wearing. She felt her face betray a hint of shock at his crimson hair and darkly-lined eyes, so out of place in the drab greys and browns all around. Without stopping or slowing his already measured pace, his vivid green eyes widened a bit when he saw her.

She wasn't quite sure what emotion she was seeing in them. Surprise? …Disappointment? They were so green, and yet they were strangely lifeless.

But before she could puzzle it out, they had already passed each other, and neither looked back at the other. She wasn't sure why, but she felt strangely exposed as she remembered his eyes and the way they seemed to bore into her. She rubbed her arms and fought back a chill as she reached her door, the echo of his footsteps now only a memory, but still loud.

The room was as quiet as ever, but it wasn't a peaceful kind of quiet. The door closed with an unhappy creak and Ino switched on the light, but it did little to make the place look welcoming. The silence was the kind that made you feel like you were being watched, and that the walls knew your secrets and would whisper them back to you when you were asleep at night.

It was a silence that was noisy, and with every rustle of clothing or thud of her footsteps, Ino felt like she was being much too loud. She wasn't aware of how hard she was clenching her jaw until she reached the small bedside table in the bedroom and gripped the silver handlebar with white knuckles.

The wood was stiff and fit together awkwardly, so opening the drawer made a ruckus. It groaned miserably, and Ino willed for it to stop. If it was any louder, the whole neighborhood would be able to hear.

A glint of something metallic shone in the shadow, and she reached a careful hand towards it. She wasn't sure which was colder, her fingers or the metal object. Suddenly, a memory flashed to the forefront of her mind.

…Shouting…and pain. Piercing, everything was piercing. His dark, dark eyes and the sharp twang near her abdomen. She brandished the weapon in her hand back and forth, all the while stumbling backwards. He was holding something as well, and as he raised his arm the blade caught the light.

Blood. Her blood coating the edge of the steel. She yelled something at him, pleaded for him to stay away with a trembling voice. He was beyond crazed as he lurched forward, closing the gap between them just as her back was met with the wall. She screamed and shut her eyes…

And then it was his scream of agony that filled the room.

Her eyes shot open to see the knife clatter to the ground, followed by his body. He hit the floor with a dull, lifeless thud. A puddle of crimson bloomed around his head and his eyes were already fading fast. They were staring straight at her…

Ino slammed the drawer shut, heart jolting, hands shaking and face pale. Instinctively, she reached under her shirt to skim her fingers over the large bandage above her right hip. Her breath passed through her lips in harsh gasps, and with a choked sound she dug her fingernails under the sticky fabric and ripped it off.

She stumbled over to the bathroom on unsteady legs, practically falling onto the linoleum counter, which she grasped on to tightly. Shoulders hunched, she stared down at the sink without seeing it.

_Why won't his eyes go away?!_

A small whimper escaped her throat and her head shot up to gaze at her reflection. What she saw disturbed her.

Weakness.

Blue eyes spoke only of fear, and they were gleaming at the corners. Why? It couldn't be tears, could it?

"No!"

She smashed the back of her hand against the mirror and gasped at the pain it caused, but quickly bit her lip. Her eyes stung because it _hurt_. She was _not_ going to cry because she was afraid. The frown was from biting back the pain. That was all.

Her right arm hung limp, throbbing knuckles somewhat soothed as they lay on the cold countertop. But it wasn't enough to completely overpower the dull ache that flared up at sporadic intervals.

_How pathetic_, a snide voice in her head commented, and her expression morphed into one of disgust. Her eyes narrowed to glare back at her from inside the glass, and her lips thinned into a straight line.

She hooked her pained fingers under both layers – sweatshirt and shirt – and pulled the fabric up slowly, carefully. An angry gash revealed itself to her in the mirror. The skin was uneven, a dark scab beginning to form. It was cracked in some places, and droplets of blood were starting to seep to the surface.

Luckily, he had missed anything vital, and the wound fell on her right hip bone. It wasn't too deep, but it still pricked like hell whenever she stretched the skin the wrong way and ripped the scab. She skimmed her cool fingers around the red mark, pressing down gently and watching as the flesh turned from pink to white, and then back when she took her hand away.

It was almost therapeutic, and she suddenly realized that her breathing had calmed down and she could no longer feel her heard pounding frantically. Her pupils were back to normal, and her knees didn't feel like they were about to give away.

She let out an even sigh and tugged the navy sweatshirt over her head, wary of her stretching limits. It dropped to the floor, and she rolled up the corner of the white shirt she had on underneath so it wouldn't fall back over the gash and stain itself red. It felt strange, being so careful, so controlled. A small grin graced her lips; she couldn't tell if it was bitter or not.

She exhaled sharply though her nose, and it sounded almost like she was trying to stifle a laugh. "God, Ino, you're going fucking crazy," she muttered to her reflection. The Ino in the mirror had a lopsided smirk on her face, so the real Ino lifted her fingers to her mouth and was surprised to feel the same expression on _her_ face as well.

"Oh, God." It was almost a whisper. She couldn't believe how terrible she looked. Her eyes had purple shadows, and the veins in the whites were bright red, illustrating how tired she was. She was so exhausted that her eyes stung.

The floorboards creaked beneath the carpet as she made her way back to the bedroom. She fell backwards onto the bed, slowly lifting her heavy legs up onto the mattress. She tried to close her eyes, but her concentration was always caught by the little stand next to her head. She couldn't look away from the top drawer for more than a few seconds before some magnetic force seemed to draw her eyes back.

A gust of wind whistled through the window above the table, and the thin, moth-eaten drape that covered the glass billowed into the room. The white fabric rippled in a hypnotizing way, and Ino's tired eyes followed the motion almost greedily. Her mind soon became blank, and all she could hear was the hollow sound of the morning breeze finding its way through the small window.

Her vision blurred and faded, slowly, as the drape continued to dance in its mesmerizing, peaceful way.

* * *

Her eyes shot open and she sat straight up, and her head spun for a second. The blood pounded past her ears so that she could hear nothing but. At first she didn't know why she had woken with such a start, but as the raging in her ears calmed she began to hear something else in the background.

She froze, afraid to breath and afraid to move, as the stranger continued to knock on her door loudly. Who…?

"Yo, blondie, you there?"

She recognized the voice. "What the hell…" she muttered. "Shut up, just hold on!" she shouted towards the door, and the hammering stopped at once.

She massaged her temples and grumbled as she rolled off of the bed and stood up straight. She looked down at her midriff; the scab was dry, so she pulled her shirt down over it carefully.

Her head felt heavy as she trudged over to the door. She blinked her eyes three times, quickly, in an attempt to rid them of sleep before opening the squeaky door.

An irritating grin was the first thing she saw on his face, and she almost shut the door again and went back to bed. Instead, she managed to say in her most polite tone, "What do you want?"

"Nice to see you again, too, blondie," he said, grin not faltering for a second.

Ino scowled and crossed her arms. "Look. Just tell me what you're here for. I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Social, aren't we?"

"No. Not really."

Kiba raised an eyebrow. Ino sighed.

"I'm going back to sleep," she muttered, motioning to close the door.

"Wait, blondie, don't be like that," Kiba said, grabbing for the doorknob.

"I _will_ be like that if you keep calling me stupid names," Ino growled, glaring at his hand that was keeping the door open.

"Fine, Sakura, happy now?"

"No, I'm really not. Go away."

"I was just wondering if you wanted something to eat."

Ino paused, and then slowly let go of the doorknob and fixed him with a confused gaze. "What?"

"Well, my friend is visiting and he made too much dinner, and then I thought that maybe you would want some, if you were still here."

"Dinner?" she asked suspiciously.

"Um, yeah?"

"What time is it?"

"A little before seven."

"…Damn."

Kiba looked at her hesitantly. "Are you okay, blondie?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She waved him off with one hand. "I just overslept. A lot."

"Uh huh," Kiba said slowly. "Well, what do you say?"

"About dinner?"

"About dinner."

"No."

"What? Why?"

Ino found it funny that he was actually taken aback by her answer. "Sorry…Kiba," she began, his name sounding strange and out of place coming from her lips, "but I'd rather not have dinner with a stranger."

"Sasuke's harmless."

"Who?"

Kiba rolled his eyes. "My friend, he cooked dinner. Besides, he's gay. He wouldn't do anything to you."

Ino wasn't sure how to respond at first. "Um, okay, that's nice and all, but I wasn't talking about him," she said slowly. Was he really as stupid as he acted?

Understanding made itself apparent in Kiba's auburn eyes, and then he grinned that sly grin again. "Please, sweet cheeks. Me? A stranger? After all I've done for you?" He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, and then lowered his head a bit to give her a pointed look.

Ino exhaled sharply, patience unraveling quickly. "Look, you don't know me, stop pretending you do. I don't want your sympathy or whatever it is you're giving me, whatever you want; I don't need it."

"Okay, okay, jeez, I was just trying to be nice," Kiba responded, hands raised in submission. He took a few paces backwards and said, "Really, I have no ulterior motive behind this. Completely innocent. Completely pure."

There was something about his expression that had Ino believing him, and for a split second she felt a twinge of guilt at having been so accusing. The next second she squashed that feeling.

"Look," she started in a tired voice, feeling very repetitive. "It's very nice of you to offer, I appreciate it, but no thanks. I'll be fine."

"You sure?" he asked, once again sounding sincere, which she found almost as annoying as when he was trying to get under her skin on purpose. He was either too irritating or too uncannily nice.

"Yes, I'm sure," she told him in finality, staring straight into his eyes. He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.

"Alright, whatever. If you change your mind, I'm the first door on the right next to the stairs."

"Okay," she said flatly.

Kiba waited for a moment to see if she would say anything else, and when it was apparent that the conversation was dead on her side, he sighed. "Don't be a stranger, Sakura," he said, already turning and heading back down the hall.

Ino allowed herself a dry chuckle as she shut the door, this time not on his face but on his back. "Right."


	3. Give us this day

**A/N:** And I'm sure that everybody who got this story alert in his/her inbox was all like, "wtf is this?! i don't remember this story." Sigh...I'm a failure. And to make up for my sixish month absence, I give you a chapter full of angsting and nothing too interesting. I am so sorry!

But, um, hooray for Sasuke's POV in the second half? Because he's going to have a few issues in this story as well. Next chapter is when something of a plot comes into play. And please forgive any OOC towards the end. It's hard trying to write seriously while listening to a song called "Hot Like Wow." XD

* * *

**Monster Monster**

_3. Give us this day_

…_Our daily dose of faux affliction…_

The paranoia was beginning to set in. Not that it hadn't already been there, but now it was worse. So much worse. Did anyone know what she had done? Did they know where she was? Were they out looking for her?

She hadn't paid for the room yet. Was Tsunade going to kick her out? And if so, then what would she do? She only had two hundred dollars; that couldn't sustain her forever.

Her stomach growled loudly. She groaned. She had barely slept the whole night, kept awake by the constant reminder of how empty her stomach was; that and the fact that when she closed her eyes, she would start thinking about everything imaginable.

Kiba had offered her a meal, but could she trust him? He seemed nice – irritating, but genuinely kind. But she knew that sometimes nice guys were anything but _nice guys_. She had learned that lesson the hard way, and had gained a little souvenir to make sure she would never forget.

She slipped her fingers under her shirt and felt the scab lightly. It was dry, which was reassuring. But it was large, delicate. Every time she stretched the wrong way, little prickles warned her that her skin was nowhere near healed.

Her stomach growled again, and she turned her head to the other side on the musty pillow, her hair pale and loose on the linen.

The events of the past two days replayed themselves in her head for the nth time: his eyes and the knife; him in a puddle of blood; the gloomy streets of the lower level of the city; Kiba and his tattoos and wolfish grins; the bank and its abrasive interior; the man on the stairs who seemed to be looking for something, or someone, though neither seemed to be her; Kiba again, being too good-neighborly; and a sleepless night.

So much for two days. She wondered how much more she could take, how much longer she could go without being found out. The bank had been a risky maneuver, but she seemed to still be in the clear. Maybe – dare she hope? – no one would ever come after her.

But she had left the knife there in that room, the knife with her blood on it. Surely the police would hand it over to some crime lab and they would do some DNA tests and link her to the scene. Or they'd find a hair on the floor. Something. She had grown up watching crime series on TV; she knew what CSIs were capable of. But…maybe no one knew. Maybe no one had heard the struggle and the gunshot and – no, impossible. She wouldn't get her hopes up.

She groaned and clutched at her head, wishing she could still her thoughts.

Her stomach growled again, and it hurt like hell, but she really didn't want to get up. She was _so tired_. She closed her eyes to try and drift off to sleep, because that was the only way out of this hell she could think of. _Focus on your breathing_, she told herself, but it did no good. Her mind was racing, racing faster than she could keep up with.

_You don't have to run._

_Yes I do._

_You didn't have a choice. You were defending yourself. You're completely innocent._

_So what? That doesn't change the fact that I still killed someone._

_Go to the police! They can help you a hell of a lot better than you can help yourself. Running just makes you seem guilty._

_It's not just the police I'm running from. _

_You'd be safer if you went to the police; at least then you'd have protection._

_I have protection._

_Right, a gun you're too scared to look at. A gun you know you will never shoot again. A gun you're terrified of. You're not meant to have something so terrible. _

"What now?" she breathed, hoping an answer would whisper itself back out of the blue.

_Get rid of the gun_, the voice in the back of her head told her, and had been telling her all through the night.

She looked over at the drawer. _What if I need it?_

_Even if you did, you'd be too afraid to fire it. Get rid of it; you're better off without it. _

She couldn't argue with what the sensible part of her mind was saying. Or, she could, but it was fruitless.

_What if _they_ find me?_

_They're like some freaky mafia. Do you really think they'll miss their ringleader? Or do you think they'll be glad to be rid of him? I doubt they'll care. They probably have some backup or whatever._

Now she was pretending she understood what went on in 'freaky mafia' heads. She was just trying to make herself feel safer. Feeding herself sweet lies. Delicious, they were, until the sugary coating dissolved.

Her stomach grumbled – roared – at her. It hurt. Hell, it hurt. "Let me sleep," she moaned, dragging an arm over her eyes. _Get up and do something, _her mind told her. _You're only tired because you haven't had anything to eat for a while. You can spare a few dollars, anyway. _

With an angry groan she threw her legs over the side of the bed and yanked open the drawer of the bedside table. Twenty tens plus a few smaller bills were jammed into the far back, in the half-light. She snagged a ten and stuffed it into her pocket next to the small metal room key, and then forced herself to her feet.

A quick look in the bathroom mirror revealed what she had feared: she looked absolutely dreadful. Her face and hair were dirty and oily, her shirt wrinkled and stale, her jeans much the same. She turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water into her face and bangs, hoping that she could make herself look at least a little clean for her short excursion. She ran her wet fingers through her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, then cast a glance at the small shower to her right.

She added soap and shampoo to her mental list and she headed toward the door.

Tsunade was at the front desk when Ino stepped off the last step. The woman's chin was on her fist, and her gaze hung heavily on Ino as the younger blonde took a cautious step forward, unsure what to expect.

"Should I assume that you're expecting to stay longer? Or should I assume that you're leaving for good? If it's the first, then you should know that nothing in this world's free."

Ino bit her lip, wincing. The words were sharp. "Um, I don't have that much with me," she began, digging the ten dollar bill out of her pocket as she stepped closer to the desk. She unfolded the ten, and extended her arm halfway, undecided. She wanted to keep the money, but she also wanted to keep the room.

Tsunade's eyes left Ino's and shot to the green piece of paper.

"I mean, I have more than _this_," Ino continued halfheartedly, "but not a lot more. How much –?"

"Forget it."

" – is it for…What?"

Tsunade's lips twitched. Why she was smiling, Ino didn't know. "Let me rephrase that. Nothing in this world's free _for very long_. The months almost over; there's no point collecting such a small portion of rent."

Ino blinked, fingers curling slowly back around the bill. Would Tsunade bark at her if she pulled it back too quickly? As though reading her mind, the older woman said, "Keep it, for now. You're lucky I'm feeling so generous this morning."

"I…thank you! Thank you, so much. Really, you have no idea –"

"Yeah, yeah, I have an idea." Tsunade was waving her off, stifling a yawn behind her hand. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

"Yes, thank you," Ino said one last time, and turned quickly to rush out the door. She decided she kind of liked this woman.

"Next month's a different deal!" she heard Tsunade call after her, and resolved not to think of such unpleasant things until later.

* * *

She would later find it pathetic, but at the moment Ino was proud of how thrifty she could be when absolutely necessary. With ten dollars she had been able to buy a lot: a sample-sized container each of shampoo, toothpaste, and soap, a travel-sized toothbrush, a bottle of water, and a box of cereal (she figured the sugar would help with her energy). And she still had a few cents to spare.

The little drug store had been a lucky find, just a few blocks away from the apartment complex that she was very temporarily calling home. The plastic bag rustled loudly in her hand, swaying back and forth as she walked with a bit more enthusiasm than she had earlier on the way to the store.

It really wasn't that ugly down on the underside of the city. By no means was it shiny and clean and inviting, but it wasn't hideous. People weren't giving her weird looks anymore. Or maybe that was just because she was walking on the sidewalk like a normal person, she noted after a moment. Whatever it was, something felt different.

Was she used to the tall, skinny buildings and their faded paint? Was she used to the great expanse between her and the sky, and the dark windows that reflected the sunlight as she stared upward? Or was she used to the feel of the air: still and calm, and all around there was _life_ that wasn't hectic but gave off a low drone of sound. Or maybe she was letting herself finally feel a bit of relief at having gotten away from _that_ past.

That was it. In this tranquil moment of time between _home_ and _store_ she wasn't worrying about money or running or what ifs. She was content that the bag in her hand was full of what she needed, and that she could walk in the fresh air, and that she actually had a place to head to, and that the sky was blue and the clouds were like cotton and the sun was smiling.

_This must be what people mean when they say life is good,_ she thought, closing her eyes and taking a gratifying breath. _Life is good, Ino. Just let it be good, just for right now._

Yes, she could do that. Just for a few minutes she could pretend she had it all. She could smile in earnest up at the sun. She did, and she felt…hope. A small prick of it, unmistakable amidst the doom and gloom that stuck to her thoughts. A tiny dot of light in the darkness.

_Stay, hope. Stay._

Thinking in this way, she felt like someone else. Not anyone she knew, really, just someone other than herself.

Maybe this was how people like Kiba kept smiling, because it didn't seem like he had that much else to smile about. He had a friend named Sasuke, and a small apartment room, and maybe a job, and that was all she knew. And with what little he had he had offered to help her. Not in a monumental way, but it was still more than anyone else had done.

A trickle of guilt dulled the hope. She had been so rude to him, for no other reason except her lack of trust in him. Him and the world. And all he had been was kind, not asking too much and not forcing her to do anything to repay him. She wanted to know why he had been so helpful, and wondered if he would answer with '_Just because.' _Maybe he was one of those people who didn't need an ulterior motive to be nice to others.

_Who knows._

As she neared the apartment complex, she noticed a familiar man disappearing inside. He was familiar not because she knew who he was, but because that head of vivid red hair was hard to forget in one day. It was the person from the staircase, the one who was obviously looking for something, though how she could tell this she wasn't sure. She remembered his absolute lack of expression, but there had been something in his eyes – bright blue eyes – that conveyed dissatisfaction. She had felt it – he hadn't found what he had wanted. She knew the feeling very well herself.

God _Ino, stop with the self-pity already!_

And there went the serenity. Her stomach growled.

The reception room was empty when she entered. No one was behind the desk, but there was music drifting out of the backroom under behind the stairs. She actually hadn't even noticed this room before, but now that the door was open and a steady chorus of drums and light guitar were flowing out, she wondered how she had missed it. She assumed that Tsunade was inside, dismissed the thought, and trudged up the stairs.

* * *

Sasuke was busy glaring moody daggers at the dark television screen when there was a soft knock at the door. Kiba wouldn't be done with work for a few hours, and Sasuke didn't know who else would stop by without knowing this bit of information, unless the visitor in question somehow knew that _he_ was staying here –

He stifled a moan as he dragged a hand over his face. Maybe if he was quiet, the person would just leave; he let his head fall against the back of the couch and closed his eyes in hopes of this.

Another knock.

Sasuke chuckled darkly. Right, as if _that person_ would give up that easily. He pushed himself heavily to his feet and ran a hand through his hair tiredly as he headed toward the door. Upon opening it, he was not at all surprised to see the glaring mop of red hair that greeted him.

"Gaara, I don't want to talk to you right now," he said tiredly, leaning into the doorframe, hoping his body language would speak louder than he had.

Gaara smiled blandly, his shocking azure eyes remaining untouched by the motion. "I heard about your job."

"Well, isn't that fucking brilliant? I'm so glad you came by to tell me that," Sasuke groused with a roll of his eyes, hoping that the redhead would take the hint and _leave_. But he knew better than to hope too much, and wasn't caught off guard when Gaara blinked hazily and invited himself inside.

"Kiba told me," Gaara continued in his calm voice as Sasuke closed the door quietly. "I ran into him the other day after he was off of work. He told me you had gotten laid off. He also told me not to give you too much grief about it."

"Yeah, I can tell you're following his advice," Sasuke muttered to himself as Gaara settled into the couch and flicked the TV on. He narrowed his onyx eyes at the back of Gaara's head, and then gave an annoyed sigh as he dragged his feet into the small kitchen. He dug around the cabinets until he found an unopened bag of 'hint of lime' tortilla chips and claimed them as his lunch.

He reentered the living room, munching on the salty chips with a bit more venom than needed, to find Gaara idly flipping through channels.

"You know, if you stay on one channel for more than two seconds, you might find that you actually like what's on," he voiced after a minute of watching.

"If it takes more than two seconds to capture my interest," Gaara countered evenly, "then it's not worth wasting my time on." Sasuke chomped down on a particularly salty chip. "Is there anything remotely useful and enriching on?"

Sasuke resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, not that Gaara was looking at him. His charcoal-lined eyes were fixed on the screen, practically unblinkingly. "Try the history channel or the science channel. Dunno what numbers they are, though."

"Doesn't it cost a lot to get all these extra channels?" Gaara asked, sounding perfectly unconcerned.

"Kiba likes his TV."

"Evidently."

Sasuke also thought it was a bit ridiculous to have so many channels. The first day he had crashed at Kiba's he had spent a good hour channel surfing, only to find that over half the stations housed complete and utter garbage. And it wasn't like Kiba was home all day to watch them either. _He_ still had his job.

Lucky bastard.

Sasuke flopped down on the other end of the couch as Gaara stopped on a station that was airing a show about reptiles and bugs in some rainforest-ey island somewhere far away. A lizard snatched an enormous moth from a tree trunk with its long tongue, and began chewing on it slowly.

"So," Sasuke began, pausing to lick the lime-flavored dust from his fingers. "What are you really here for? I know it's not the television."

Gaara's eyes didn't leave the screen when he answered. "This is actually rather interesting. I don't have this channel at home."

"Gaara…" Sasuke warned, raising his eyes to the ceiling in growing frustration.

"I came because I figured you would be wallowing around feeling sorry for yourself and doing nothing productive." He cast a sideways glance at Sasuke, the small smile forming on his lips again. "By your attitude, I assume I was correct in that presumption. I figured you could use some friendly company in your time of need."

"Oh yeah, I can _tell_ you give a damn," Sasuke grumbled sarcastically to the ceiling. He could _hear_ the irritating little smile/smirk on Gaara's face, and really wasn't in the mood to look at it.

"I do," Gaara stated, a bit of unanticipated force behind his simple declaration. "I am sorry that you lost your job. I wouldn't fake something like that." He paused. "Besides, Kiba already warned me against it."

Sasuke's eyes swiveled to the redhead's face. The smirk was gone, and in its place was an air of great seriousness. He couldn't quite decipher exactly what it meant, because thin lips and crisp blue eyes framed with black made up Gaara's default expression: something indifferent but not quite. But maybe there was a hint of geniality behind the vague look.

The man _did_ have the kanji for 'love' tattooed on his forehead above his left eye; he couldn't be a total ice cube.

Sasuke sighed. "Fine. Sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Gaara prompted.

"No."

"Yes you do."

Sasuke's forehead creased as he gave Gaara a look. "What? No. I don't," he countered sharply.

He met Gaara's cool gaze with his defiant one, even when the munchies attacked him again and he crammed a few more chips in his mouth. Blue eyes looked down at the bag in his hand.

"Can I have one?" Gaara asked.

Sasuke hugged his chips a bit closer to his side. "No."

"Then talk."

"_No."_

Gaara tipped his head to the side. "Okay," he said, and turned back to the TV.

The screen now showed a black spider with eerily long legs perched in the center of its web, completely unmoving until an unlucky insect flew into the sticky trap. Sasuke hunched into the pillows and pursed his lips as the little green bug thrashed around desperately, sending the web haywire. The spider pounced and the poor bug's life was doomed.

He glanced over at Gaara, who could have been watching paint dry or grass grow for all his face gave away. One gloved hand thrummed absently against his thigh, but there was nothing on his face. No morbid fascination or creeped out disgust, nothing.

Sasuke felt his irritation growing. It prickled at his skin. He stuck a finger in his mouth to lick off the powder, but ended up gnawing on the end of the digit restlessly. Another glance to his right showed that Gaara hadn't moved an inch, and his fingers were still doing their silent drum beat. Sasuke clenched his free hand, words forming on his tongue and trying to spill out.

Finally giving in, he glued his eyes determinedly to the screen when he blurted, "This fucking sucks."

At the edges of his vision he saw Gaara cast him a glance. "What was that?" the redhead asked. Sasuke spared a quick look over, saw the diminutive smirk, and looked away with a glower. Stupid bastard had won, and he knew it.

But Sasuke found himself talking anyway. "How the hell am I supposed to find another job? Companies are laying people off by the hundreds. And that wasn't even a big company; just a small family herb shop! The owner lives on the next level up, and can barely afford his home." He took a sharp breath and looked down at his hands, the chip bag forgotten between his leg and the armrest.

"So now I have no job, I had to give up my apartment because I can't pay for it anymore, and no one is going to hire me. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Gaara offered an answer anyway, though not a very helpful one. "You'll figure something out. Kiba's letting you stay here, isn't he? That takes care of the apartment problem."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be a burden. You know I'm too proud to let him take care of me forever," Sasuke grudgingly admitted.

"What about me?"

Sasuke looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean, what about you?"

"Would you let me take care of you?" Again with that strange smile. Was he trying to make a joke? It was always so hard to tell.

"No," Sasuke answered forcefully.

"Hm," Gaara hummed, beginning to work off one glove finger by finger. "But seriously –" (So it was a joke…) " – you'll figure something out. You have a way of doing that. People like you."

…Whatever that was supposed to mean. Sasuke assumed it was some sort of attempt at consolation. Gaara dropped one leather glove on the coffee table and got to work on the second one. Sasuke was not surprised to see that his nails were painted a very melodramatic, shiny black.

To give him something, they matched his outfit perfectly.

_Oh god, I did _not_ just think that_, Sasuke moaned inwardly, and began to feel sorry for himself all over again.

His self-pitying was cut short when Gaara reached over him, completely ignoring his space bubble, and snatched the bag of chips away. Sasuke considered snapping at him, but didn't find it necessary once Gaara had pulled his searching hand out of the chip bag with a bemused frown.

"You ate them all," he remarked monotonously.

"They were mine."

"I took my gloves off."

"…Oh no?"

"Bitch."

This time, Sasuke couldn't stop the looming eye-roll. "You're such a diva," he said under his breath.

In the same dull voice, Gaara asked, "Can I stay for dinner?" It was probably a good thing that he had ignored Sasuke's last comment.

"Sure." Sasuke waved his hand dismissively. "I don't have anything planned, though."

"I have been craving enchiladas lately."

Sasuke let out a long, suffering sigh in response.

"Stop with the wallowing," Gaara interjected. "It's very unbecoming of you."

Sasuke had the sudden, inexplicable urge to tell Gaara that his face was unbecoming, but decided he didn't need to give the redhead anything else to taunt him about.


End file.
